Loyalty of the Dunedain
by FireSign
Summary: A character study story set in Bree years before the War of the Ring. The innkeeper's daughter and a Ranger--it was never meant to be a match made for the Valar, but neither were they. OC/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Loyalty of the Dunedain

**Summary**: A character study story set in Bree years before the War of the Ring. The innkeeper's daughter and a Ranger--it was never meant to be a match made for the Valar, but neither were they. [OC/OC]

**Category: **Drama/Romance

**Author's Notes**: I started this story many moons ago. As in, 6-7 years ago. I've always been fascinated by the Breelands, and thought a story set years before the War of the Ring could be an interesting way to explore that. And to try and create characters true to the stories, the environments and human nature. When I recently decided to get back into the habit of writing, this unfinished story called to me. It's the story of two original characters, with appearances from canon characters, but I hope that's not enough to dissuade you from giving it a try. Set somewhere between book and movie verse.

Reviews are good, constructive criticisms are better. No, really. I'm happy to discuss any part of this story; worried about the timeline? Let me know. Curious about the name choices? It's a topic near to my heart and you'll probably have a tough time shutting me up. Think the story sucks? I'm never going to improve if I can't figure out where I've gone wrong. And yes, teh title sucks.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, no profit, just a hobby.

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* * *

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It was nearing midnight when Gorlim approached the gates of Bree on foot. He rapped the small side door gently, keeping his head bent down out of the rain.

A rustle of cloth came from the other side of the gate, then the sound of the bolt being pulled back and a greeting, "Who knocks at such an hour?"

"I seek the Inn of the Prancing Pony," replied Gorlim, raising his hands to show no weapon. He knew there was a chance his entrance would be refused; he should have arrived that afternoon, but the weather had way-laid him.

The door swung open, and the Ranger slipped through. The hooded figure that was guarding the gate motioned up the main road without a word, and Gorlim set off to find the Prancing Pony. It was a small inn compared to those in the cities to the south, but it had a well-earned reputation; a warm bed, no question, and, for those who indulged, the finest ale in the Breelands.

The dark wet of raindrops showed on the dirt road beneath his feet when lightning illuminated the sky, but he scarcely noticed. It was not so much a Ranger's habit of paying no heed to the elements as a desire to see his duty done. In the relative safety of a walled town, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

The sons of Rangers always imagined the excitement of orc hunts or the apprehension of thieves. So few realized the patience and time it took to make those adrenaline pumping raids or the number of untraceable lies followed for one good lead. It had not been so long ago that he himself realized the excitement imagined was a rarity, the one dream that kept the Rangers doing their thankless tasks. The value of a life was not to be taken for granted, but after years of shoddy treatment the shine had long worn off.

If it were not for the Dunedain, a single band or orcs or wargs would destroy the people of the Breelands. Their system of defence was evadible, and the only weapon Gorlim had heard used by villagers was the rusted excuse for a sword the gatekeeper kept at his post. He had spotted it as he entered. It had not occurred to the gate-watcher to pick it up before allowing entry, and Gorlim could have easily reached it first.

Another bolt of lightning revealed a worn sign beating in time with the wind. A white pony, or what was left of one, was the wood's only ornament.

He entered, shaking the rain from his cloak as a portly gentleman came to greet him.

"Hullo," he said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Be you seeking accommodations?"

"Indeed, my fine gentleman. But first a drink perhaps, to warm chilled bones?"

Gorlim was tempted to sigh with the frustration of having to ask, soaked as he was. But he was stilled by a remembered warning from Halbarad, a man who had been old since time immemorial. _"They're fine folks, those Breelanders. But they spook easily. Take it slow; they don't like strange men in cloaks. A threat they can no longer remember."_

"Of course. I am the innkeeper, Gearge Butterbur."

Gorlim could not help but note that his name was not asked for in return, and for the first time wondered if there was something deeper to Bree than he had assumed. He followed the innkeeper through an archway into the common room. Even at that late hour it was full of customers. Smoke circled the room, making the air close and heavy amidst the dark wood. Raucous laughter filled it, and in one corner some men were singing a drinking song. It was boisterous and rough, but for the moment there was nothing sinister to the air.

Gorlim took a seat at a table near the door, ensuring his back was to the wall. The innkeeper waved over a girl before leaving to attend another customer's enquiry. She was a tavern maid, no more than twenty. Pleasant to look at, though that might have been the result of her environment more than her features. She smiled in acknowledgement, and Gorlim saw charm behind her tired eyes and weary smile. As she made her way across the room, she expertly avoided hands that were too familiar.

She was only a few tables away when a leering man grabbed her wrist. She jerked away, but the man held firm. Gorlim was out of his seat instantly, and gave the man a smile as he placed an arm around the maid's waist.

"My apologies, sir, but this lady owes me a dance," Gorlim said. His tone was pleasant, but his eyes dared the drunken man to argue. There was no real contest, and Gorlim whisked the girl into a clearing between tables.

"Thank you," she said as they danced. The song ended, and she paused to catch her breath before continuing. "You have not been here before, sir."

There was no question to her voice, as if she knew every customer that had ever been or would be.

"I am afraid I have not had the pleasure."

"Welcome to Bree," she said, a self-deprecating grin flitting across her face. "Ale for the good sir?"

Gorlim nodded, retaking his seat near one of the roaring fires. The tavern maid left, returning quickly with a tankard and another smile.

"Will that be all, sir?" she asked.

Time passed, as it is wont to do. Gorlim found himself ordering round after round of ale. That in itself was not an odd thing, for it had been many nights since a warm fire and cheerful company had been his. As the liquid warmed his veins, Gorlim found himself anticipating the latest smile from the tavern maid as she delivered another tankard to his table. The scowling man who grabbed her wrist had left by the end of their dance, and there seemed to be an air of warning about her person. The other men joked towards her and perhaps let hands wander further then need be, but there was restraint to the passion in their eyes now.

For her part, she did not seem to hold Gorlim's actions in any regard except her initial gratitude. A part of him hoped that the glances she sent across the room were meant to say more than "Another ale, sir?", for if good drinking company had been a long time coming, good company in other arenas had been lacking for even longer. But there was no such indication. He finally decided that retiring for the night would be the wisest course of action, and hailed the girl for the final time.

"Another ale, sir?" she asked, her voice carrying a joke hidden to others.

"I wish to be seen to my room."

"I suppose my father did not see it fit to bring you to your room before allowing you to drink yourself senseless?" she asked, the warm grin softening her words. "No bother."

And before Gorlim had time to respond, the tavern maid had hiked her skirts up to climb atop his table.

"Barliman!" she called out.

There was quiet in the room, until one of the singers mentioned seeing the young boy taking a rest in the storeroom not ten minutes earlier. She could not help but smile before the proper annoyance took its place upon her face. Gorlim wondered if there was anything she would not greet with that gentle, knowing smile.

"I will see which room my brother was meant to bring you to," she apologized, and walked off.

She quickly returned, a key in hand. Gorlim followed her silent summons, making his way down a dimly lit passage. The room was up two flights of stairs, and Gorlim followed the bobbing light from her candle. The girl remained silent for most of their trip, until a small chuckle escaped when Gorlim came close to stumbling.

"Does something amuse you?"

"You do, sir."

Gorlim supposed he should be grateful for the honesty.

"And what is it that you find so amusing? My clothes perhaps? Does something in my visage bring laughter? Perhaps it is my voice, a rather rough one I fear."

"None of that, sir. Though I do admit they would all be worthy of mirth if our roles were not as they are," she turned to him then, and from the light of the candle he could see yet another grin on her face. "It is the mere thought that a Ranger- a _Ranger_, mind you- comes soaking into the Prancing Pony's common room, dances with a servant, and drinks much more then recommended. 'Tis not a common sight, you can imagine. Usually you folk come a-galloping in on some lovely- if worn- specimen of horse, sit in a dark corner, listen to the local gossip and generally raise suspicions."

Gorlim could not help but laugh himself. When such a summary of Rangers was given, it was difficult to maintain the unfriendly façade. But her words invoked another memory, and he groaned. Alassë.

"What is it sir?"

"My horse. I left him near the front gate, because..." Gorlim hesitated. "Well, because I was unsure of Bree. How well the streets are built for horses, and such. I cannot imagine how I could have forgotten him."

"Well, I fear you've had too much ale to fetch him now. Where did you leave him? I may bring him to the stables, if you do not mind. 'Tis not a night to leave the poor creature to the elements. We're not big on horses here, seeing how we do more trading then ploughing nowadays, but our stables are sound. I can ride, one of the few who do. Not that I'm particularly special, mind you, it is just faster to deliver message to the other villages by horseback then foot. My father does business in Archet and Combe."

She had tripped over the last few sentences, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a breathless rush. She seemed to realise it, and her cheeks flushed in the candlelight. Against his better judgement and breaking his cardinal rule, Gorlim told her where he had left the path and hobbled Alassë. It came as no surprise to him that she smiled wider than before.

"Very well, sir," she said, and then opened the door nearest her. "Your room, sir. There is water in the wash basin, though very likely cold. I can fetch some hot water from the kitchen if you wish."

Gorlim sat on the bed to remove his boots, and shook his head. "I will be going to sleep directly, but your offer is very kind."

The girl ducked her head, "Very well, sir. "

Her hand was on the doorknob when Gorlim burst out, ""His name is Alassë, but he can be anything but."

She gave him a puzzled look and Gorlim remembered that very few humans knew much more than Westron.

"Alassë- it means joy. He can give quite a kick when startled, ma'am. Just make sure he sees you coming."

"There are very few who would recommend differently, Ranger. We are not _so_ unfamiliar with horses as to think otherwise," she replied, giving him a puzzled look. Gorlim cursed his foolish tongue, loosened perhaps by the drink and the sleep creeping upon him.

She left, and Gorlim found himself staring at the closing door. She was a curiosity, that was certain. A tavern maid- the innkeeper's daughter, no less- who could ride, and welcomed a Ranger? It was not a common occurrence, though not necessarily an unwelcome development. So long as she did not ask too many questions. He listened to her footsteps recede down the hall, and was startled as they hurried back. She partly opened the door to the room and poked her head around the wood.

"Your belongings, sir. Do you wish for me to bring them to your room, or shall I leave them with your mount?"

"It would please me greatly for you to do whichever brings you the least strife," Gorlim replied, making a grand gesture of courtesy with his hands. "You have already been more than accommodating."

The small kindness brought a strange glow to her face. "Very well, sir. They will be by your bedside come morn."

She hesitated then, lost in thought. Gorlim thought it was the first time he had seen something other than a smile on her face. She quickly shook it off, setting her jaw resolutely and smiling again.

"If you'll be needing anything else, sir, just ask for Tess."

"And if you be needing more rescuing, you know where to find Gorlim, Ranger of the Wild."

This amused her, and she laughed as she closed the door.

Gorlim laid his head upon the pillow, head swimming with the ale. The tavern maid's name was Tess.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: As I said in the last chapter, constructive criticism is a lovely thing. Ask me questions, point out flaws, tell me what you love. It's all good.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, just a hobby.

* * *

Gorlim was not one to rise after the sun. When there were things to be done, there was no point to wasting perfectly good time. So when he woke that morning, his first blurred thought was, _why does the sunlight stream into my room? My window faces in a westerly direction._

His head throbbed slightly. Perhaps he had drunk to excess the night before. He cast an eye around the room, and spied his belongings at the foot of his bed as that girl – Tess, he remembered – had promised. He breathed a sigh of relief; at least his poor judgement had not had dire consequences, at least at first glance. He rummaged through his pack to be certain and found nothing missing,

The water basin was half-full, and Gorlim washed his hands and face in the cold water before heading downstairs. The common room was empty save a sole patron, sipping soup in a corner. Gorlim contemplated asking for a bowl himself, but a glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told him it was later than he had realised. Just as he reached the door, Gearge emerged from a back room.

"I trust you slept well?"

"Your beds are truly the most comfortable of any inn I have ever frequented," answered Gorlim, feeling a little flattery rarely hurt. "May I ask where to find that girl Tess?"

"She's off and about for now. She won't be back 'til nigh of supper time, when she's needed."

He looked suspicious of the enquiry, so Gorlim flipped him a silver coin.

"Very well. Give her this for me. She did me well last eve, and she ought to be rewarded."

The innkeeper looked at the coin distrustfully before tucking it into his apron. Gorlim wondered if Tess would ever see it, but that was hardly of consequence. He stepped into the main road of Bree, bustling in the early afternoon sun. Children's laughter as they ran from house to house was mixed with the chatter of women and the bickering voices of men bartering. The dirt road was well packed, though still muddy from the downpour the day before. The sounds of horses came from the back of the Prancing Pony, and he followed them. With the Prancing Pony dead until the evening, it was a good time to find what the other villages had to say.

The stables were not quite what Gorlim expected; it was clear that many horses had stayed there at one time. It took up the bottom floor of one wing of the main building, and was made primarily of stonework. It looked little used now, but it was kept clean and pleasant, with fresh air and natural light. Alassë was in a stall near the door, looking well fed and freshly groomed. Gorlim vowed to give Tess a tip directly when he next saw her. His saddle was not in the stall, and he assumed the small room at the other end of the building was tack room.

To his surprise, he found the young Tess there, a book in her lap and her brow furrowed in concentration. Something about the scene struck him as odd, but his keen Ranger sense was not able to pinpoint it. He coughed to announce his presence, and she looked up, startled. Moving the bound volume off her lap, she stood and then laughed. Reading the confusion on Gorlim's face, she pointed to the book.

"An account of the Goblin Wars," she announced in explanation.

Then the oddity struck him.

"You read."

"Only a little. I learnt so I could help with the accounting books for my father, when mama died."

"You do not need knowledge of the Goblin Wars to balance books," he rationalised.

"I find it interesting. Besides, it helps calm some of the dwarves that pass through."

It was said with the small smile and laughing voice that was very quickly beginning to vex Gorlim.

"I had not realised that the histories were so easily available in the common tongue," said he, resorting to a different tactic.

"There's a hobbit from the Shire, he comes through now and again. He translates some of the manuscripts held at the Last Homely House, and he lets me read them. He enjoys receiving feedback."

"Oh yes, I've heard of him. Baggins is his name?"

"The one and only."

"I had not realized he had translated so much."

"Not so _very_ much. I have had this book for nearly a year now, and as you saw, I have barely made headway. Numbers are easier than letters, but it is a worthwhile effort. Now what did you come looking for? Surely it was not to bandy words with the hired help."

"I thought I would travel to Archet today, to see how things go there."

She groaned. "Archet… Nelson Appledore. I do not suppose you would like a companion?"

"I would welcome one," he said. It made no difference to him, and he thought she might be a good source of information. Her position with the Prancing Pony no doubt let her overhear things of interest to a Ranger.

"Thank you, sir. I was to deliver a letter to Nelson Appledore this morning, but I became so engrossed with my book I forgot."

She shrugged and laughed.

"Is there _any_ occasion that you do not greet with a smile?" asked Gorlim.

"Few," she replied, eyes twinkling. "Very few."

With surprising speed she prepared to leave, and was mounted before Gorlim. She nudged her old grey mare into a walk, and he matched his pace to hers. In the sunlight he was given his first chance to truly study Tess. He found his assessment the night before had been too kind in some ways, and sadly lacking in others. Like most of her kin, she was short and solidly built. Her brown hair, tied with a ribbon, was not a particularly remarkable shade. But it held the sunlight, and the lines on her face were from laughter, not tears. Her nose was too large, but the lips beneath them were ripe and a beautiful shade of rose. Her eyes were so deep a brown they were nearly black; it was easy to look past the tiredness hidden in them. An interesting woman.

She caught his gaze and misinterpreted it.

"You pity me, do you not? You wonder why a woman who dreams of the world far away would chose to stay here, and it cannot be reconciled in your mind. This is the life I will know for all of time. Do not pity me Ranger. Adventurers oft times think that we who stay home miss out on a great many things. 'Tis true, in its way. But adventurers miss out on many things themselves. One can never experience all there is or will be, and I rather enjoy my life."

"I did not say a word about your life, or how you chose to live it," he refuted. .

"You did not need to, for it was in your eyes," she said, and urged her horse into a quick trot.

Gorlim found it oddly amusing, and spent many minutes contemplating. It was an impassioned speech; she had clearly felt the need to defend herself when he had not said a word. However, it was not the truth she denied, for her very words had spoken it. The fors and againsts of adventure had been weighed, and adventure found lacking.

They travelled in silence for some time, but Tess eventually dropped her speed to once again match his. A look of worry replaced the smile she usually wore, and this time it was not so easily shook. They both studied the passing scenery; it was mostly gently rolling hills, with an occasional copse of trees. In the distance, the dark forests could be seen. There was an occasional glint of sunlight off the distant river. Only the two trotting horses and an occasional bird song broke the quiet.

"Why are you here?" she eventually asked. "You Rangers are not often far from trouble, and when you are rumours reach my ears that it would not have been far off. To me that lends to the thought that you either look out for us folk, or you're rotten through and through. While you travel alone most often, I have seen enough of your kind, and I know your skills. I do not doubt that you would be able to destroy the village in one night. But you have not, so I figure you must be looking out for us. A noble goal indeed, but that makes me wonder why you are here."

The tone of her voice disturbed Gorlim, for there was no question to it. She trusted her logic explicitly, and she was right. He was torn, for there was no good news to reassure her. How could he explain reports beyond the scope of her imagination? How could he explain reports of a band of orcs, the largest seen past the Misty Mountains in many years, headed towards Bree, when orcs were little more than children's tales? Especially when there were so few Rangers left anywhere, and so many were off attending other duties. His chieftain, Aragorn, had ridden off to his childhood home in Imladris in hopes of bringing back elves to help. But there was little hope in that, and there was genuine worry for Bree. That village had survived ages of men, always rebuilding upon the ashes. How to explain that her home could soon be destroyed?

He was saved for the moment as they crested a final hill and found Archet lying before them. She seemed to forget her questions for a time, and cantered downwards towards the village. It was much smaller than Bree, with only a handful of houses for Big People or Little, and only one public house, The Boar's Head. Gorlim made his way there, while Tess headed towards the home of a shoemaker.

* * *

The Boar's Head was much smaller than the Prancing Pony, only a single storey. Gorlim retreated to the darkest corner and ordered some tea; his goal was to remain unnoticed, and free to observe others. The patrons sitting in that common room were markedly different from those at the Prancing Pony the night before; the merriment was not there, replaced by the quiet desperation of men deep in their cups. Two men caught Gorlim's eye, and he attempted to listen to their whispered conference. He caught something about "Old Ferny" and overdue shipments, but without further information he could not make heads or tails of it. So intent on eavesdropping, Gorlim did not notice the man across the room trying to catch his attention inconspicuously. The hooded stranger finally grew tired of whistling a bird's song and approached him.

"Gorlim, why are you here? Have you not heard?"

He replied in the negative, for it had been nearly a week since he had last received a word from his own.

"We have been called to fight. There was no lie of numbers, I fear. They would come upon Bree in three days. An ambush is set to waylay them a day's ride out, but there is little hope. There are only twenty men at best, and a handful of elves- the Lords Elladan and Elrohir and a few of their companions. They come in almost triple our number."

Gorlim's fears had been realised, and he looked at his comrade.

"There is no doubt?"

"None," older man replied, pity in his voice.

"Very well, I shall ride out come first light tomorrow."

It was clear the other Ranger did not approve of this plan, and Gorlim explained. "I will arrive in due time, without the danger of riding through territory I am unfamiliar with at night. Not all of us have spent our time in the Breelands."

The Ranger nodded, and quickly sketched a map to the encampment. As Gorlim took the paper, Tess appeared in the doorway and his companion melted away.

"Is your snooping complete for the day, Ranger?"

The light-hearted tilt of her head caused Gorlim to smile, despite the news he had just received. He responded in kind, hoping to distract her from resuming her earlier questions.

"It is indeed. What of your errands? Have you left many more letters in the realm of the forgotten in favour of some history?"

"I am sure I have, but they must be left there for now. It is time to return home sir, or you shall miss the dinner hour."

She paused, "And there is no need for such a woebegone expression. The food is perfectly edible, and I will ensure you receive a good portion, if that is your will."

"You are too kind, ma'am. My expression is not at the thought of your food, but at the sorrow of parting from your wonderful company. Tonight must be my last at the inn, for I have been called elsewhere."

Tess closed her eyes for a moment, clearly fighting her emotions. "That _is_ a pity, sir. I found myself rather enjoying your company, if I may be so bold to say. Perhaps you will return when your duties are finished. A new tale to entertain the fires with? The circumstances were not right for you to tell of your adventures last night, but perhaps you will return another time?"

Despite the friendly smile she gave him, Gorlim could not help but hear the pleading in her voice. He found himself wishing to reassure her that he would return in a short time and entertain her with tales of adventure for many nights. It was an odd thought, but sincere. The woman, little more than a girl really, fascinated him in a way that no paid company ever had. There seemed to be no calculations to her words or actions, just simple happiness in a world that was sorely lacking in joy. But he saw the bearer of bad news watching him with guarded eyes from across the room, and he remained silent. There was no promise he could make.

Gorlim pushed himself away from the table and quickly strode from the room. He was gone before Tess could mount. She caught up to him, but did not say a word about his imminent leave-taking. Growing up in the Prancing Pony had made her skilled at steering the conversation away from unpleasant subjects. She began to ask questions none could take offense to.

Her life story was discussed, and Gorlim was surprised to learn that she was three and twenty. Her only sibling was a brother named Barliman, who was nearly six years her junior. The inn has been in her family for many years, and it would go to Barliman upon her father's death. Her mother had died in labour, and that child, among others, had been stillborn. As a result, she had spent most of her formative years helping her father run the inn; serving food and ale, balancing accounts, managing the other employees, whatever was needed. She enjoyed the work, claiming it brought all the excitement of travel without any of the risk. She conceded that some of the stories were left unfinished, as not all visitors returned to finish their tale.

She asked about his life, but he had nothing to tell. Her attention turned to his name.

"Yours is the first name I have been privy to for a Ranger. Gorlim," she rolled the name on her tongue, and found it pleasing. "Where does it come from? I have not heard anything of such a sort."

"It is old, dating back to the First Age. Gorlim was one of the twelve companions of Barahir, and it was he who eventually betrayed his position to Sauron."

"How awful!" she exclaimed, "But who was Barahir?"

It was disconcerting for Gorlim to realise that the legends of his people, so vital and well known to him, was lost to most others. It was a glimpse into a completely foreign life, and he began to understand the distrust Rangers brought. He related the tale, Tess's curiosity making her an avid listener.

"Barahir was a mortal man, leader of the house of Bëor. He fought dark forces with the Noldor- elves, that is- and he was outlawed. With him travelled twelve companions, including his son Beren, and Gorlim.

"Now, Gorlim had a wife whom he loved above all else, Eilinel. He knew his choice to fight was right, but he missed her greatly. It was his desire to look upon the house they had shared, and the fact became known to the orcs. Trickery was employed, and when Gorlim next arrived, he saw his wife through the window. He ran to her, but it was an illusion.

"He was captured, and Sauron promised to reunite him with his beloved Eilinel, if he would reveal the location of Barahir's camp. He does so, and is reunited with his wife- in death. He regrets his betrayal, and comes to Beren in his dreams. He warns Beren of the attack and Beren flees to the camp, but it is too late. The other companions had been slain."

"That is not an honourable namesake, Gorlim," she said, amusement blunting the hurtful words.

He merely smiled. "My mother thought that his tale was romantic, for he gave up everything to be with his wife. My mother missed _her_ husband greatly, I fear."

"Your father was a Ranger?" Tess asked, and he nodded. "I do not blame your mother, for it would grow tiring to have your husband gone for such long periods of time."

"That is what all the women of the _dunedain_ must face, and many would not trade."

"What does that mean, 'dunedain'? I have come across it in my reading once or twice, but I did not realize who these men were."

"'Men of the West', an homage to our heritage. It is not what most people call us, and very few realize we are what we are. It is just as well, for they would never come to terms with it."

"Yet you tell me," she pointed out.

"You have the intelligence to decide that Rangers are no threat, but guardians. You deserve to have your answers, or as many as I can supply you with tonight."

While they talked, they came upon Bree and silence fell. Without need for discussion, they separated themselves. She entered the stables first, and chose a stall far from Gorlim's. He was nearly finished his evening meal when she came in, but she did not glance in his direction. Their budding friendship did not come here, to the smoke fill rooms of her people. It was too dangerous.

It was near midnight when the last stragglers left that night, and when the dishes were cleared Tess came to his room. She stood in the doorway, casting an eye over the hastily repacked bag. A sword and thicker cloak were on a chair, and a few other items Tess did not recognise. Things he would need to hand on his journey.

"I owe you some answers," Gorlim said, clearing the chair and gesturing. "Take a seat."

"I did not come here for answers, Ranger. You will ride off to danger as the new sun peaks her head over the Southdowns, will you not?"

He nodded.

"Then there is no time for questions," she declared, shutting the door as she entered the room. In the flickering light of the gas lamp, Gorlim saw a smile on her face.

* * *

When they lay, spent, she asked of him something he could not deny.

"Must you leave?

""I must."

"And you shall not come back, shall you?"

"I may not."

"Then you must tell me what tears you away from me so soon."

"Duty, my lady."

"What duty? Surely there is nothing so important that you would part from me so soon."

"I have sworn to protect these lands until death."

"Is it so bad?"

"It is," he said, tracing the curve of her body with his finger. She trembled slightly at the touch of his calloused fingers.

"Then you will need aid! There must be something I can do. Carry messages perhaps?" Her voice was panicked, desperate and dangerous.

Gorlim sighed. There was nothing she could, not of real consequence. But perhaps there was _something_ he could ask of her. It would not change the outcome of the battle for good or ill; reinforcements would be unlikely to arrive in time, but so would enemies.

"Very well. If a Ranger comes, you must tell them of a band of orcs, which head this way. There is an ambush, and I will give you a map to its location. You mustn't speak of this map to any but those who can tell you the name of our chieftain is Aragorn. Tell them they are thrice our number, and that aid is needed."

"Thrice? You cannot stop that many."

"We may, we may."

"You will not! It is so purely improbable that I refuse to believe you. Take men of Bree to fight, they will."

Her eyes were dark and angry.

"I cannot, Tess."

"But these are our lands! We have been here for so many years…" her throat hitched in a sob, and Gorlim pulled her close.

"There is no help that they can give, Tess. However, if will stop those silly tears, I will make you a vow. You must give my message to all Rangers who pass, and if our battle goes ill, I will send news to you. You can prepare the men of Bree to fight, if we do not succeed. But you must not speak a word of it to anyone until a green handkerchief is delivered to you."

She nodded her acceptance, and no more words were spoken. She slept. He did not. It was a foolish promise. An impulsive, foolish promise made by an impulsive, foolish man.

Dawn saw Gorlim saddling Alassë and heading out the eastern gate. In his room she slept, unaware that all that was behind was a hurried map on the pillow.

Duty has called.

* * *

Four nights later, Tess made her way towards the bed she kept in the stable. The hobbit her father had hired to keep night watch there was visiting an ill relation in Staddle, and she did not mind. Tam Ferny and his group had been particularly loud that night, and her head throbbed. Lost in her thoughts, she was unaware of the black shadow in the far corner of her sleeping quarters.

"Tess Barliman?"

A Ranger stepped out of the darkness.

* * *

.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: My apologies in the delay of this chapter. The first two chapters already had most of the dialogue written and were up closer together than usual as a result, then life had to intervene and I've not had a chance to write until now. I've debated saying anything because I don't want to come across as "Review or the story gets it!", but I'm not sure there's enough enjoyment coming to the readers or the writer to bother continuing right now. :-/

As usual, constructive criticism is appreciated. Yes, even from you.

* * *

"Tess Barliman?"

A Ranger stepped out of the darkness. Tess drew a quick breath and gripped her skirts.

"Yes?"

For the briefest moment, her mind raced ahead. She knew it was going to be a green handkerchief. She began to list the "weapons" the Breemen would have to hand- pitchforks from gardens, bows meant for hunting. Traps too, she was certain there would be ways to adapt the traps used for hares for something larger. Something more dangerous.

"I have come for your help," the Ranger said. "Gorlim said that you might be of some assistance."

This was not what she had expected. For the past few nights, her dreams had been haunted- strange men delivering green cloth without a word, or some spectre that was once Gorlim coming to warn her in her dreams. She blamed the latter on his telling of his namesake, but it had frightened her nevertheless. None of those had played out like this though; the Ranger seemed apologetic, not forbidding.

"You have something for me, I presume," she said, trying not to sound frightened. It failed miserably; her voice was shaking nearly as badly as her outstretched hand.

"No. I have come to ask something from you. I had hoped you could supply us with some clean cloth, suitable for bandaging."

Tess was taken back.

"Bandaging?"

The Ranger gave her a smile, and she noticed how haggard he looked. As if he had ridden here in the dead of night after days of no sleep. She knew him; the Grey Ghost he was usually called.

"How many wounded?" she asked.

"Too many," the Ranger replied. "Any assistance you can render us would not go amiss, ma'am. We have found ourselves shorter of supplies than anticipated, and Bree was the closest source."

"What else?"

"The cloth will be more than sufficient," the Ranger replied.

Tess barely heard him; her mind was racing.

"Meet me at the clover patch near the West Gate in an hour," she told him. "I will bring what I can."

When he had left the stables, Tess took a deep breath. She could not ignore injured men, especially ones injured in the defence of her home. Cloth was easy to procure- clean but stained sheets were kept in The Prancing Pony for nights of unexpectedly high occupancy. Food would be a little more difficult, as it was all accounted for, but she had no doubt the men would be hungry. Something would have to be arranged.

* * *

The hour passed more quickly than she had anticipated. She had left a short note for her father in the kitchen, near the kettle so he would see it when he awoke. When it was time to leave, Tess looked at her mare critically. Old Pansy was loaded heavily, and it would cause problems getting out of Bree. Tess reached beneath her dress and took off several layers of petticoats before mounting. She spread the skirt over Pansy's rump, obscuring the parcels. In the darkness of the night, she hoped it would be enough.

She urged Pansy into a walk, and headed towards the West Gate. Dav Thistleweed was on guard that night, and she pasted on her most charming smile.

"Hello Dav. Lovely night, isn't it?"

Dav was an older man, the type who thought himself a ladies' man but was mostly harmless. Tess knew him from the Pony. He was surprised by her presence.

"Tess Barliman, why ever are you about at this time of night?"

"My aunt near Combe has taken ill, sir, and I did not receive her letter until the Pony closed this evening."

"Your aunt, eh?" asked Dav, eyebrow raised. Even the little light from a lamp was enough to make Tess realise that her story was not going to work. All it would take to reveal her deception was a question to the wrong person- and in Bree, the wrong person was just about anyone. She had to deflect curiosity.

"And if I were to tell you it was a sweetheart ill, one Pa does not approve of?"

Oh, it was a bold lie. She was surprised that she had used it so easily.

"Then I'd wish your aunt well," Dav said, smiling as he opened the gate.

Tess gave him a weak smile as she passed, and for the first time realised what she was attempting. The clover patch was only a little outside the gates, and she found the Grey Ghost waiting for her beside a large black horse. She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"Lead the way, sir."

If the Ranger was surprised, he did not show it.

"The cloth?" he asked.

Tess lifted the hem of her skirt to show the packs beneath. "I hope it will be sufficient. I have a few other things…."

"You were not intended to accompany me, ma'am," the Ranger said simply. He did not mention the dangers of her accompaniment; not only were there still orcs in the area, scattered and with any luck fleeing back to the Misty Mountains, she herself had the potential to be a threat.

Tess was surprised. Somehow, in her mind, she was central to this story. She would ride to the men's camp, get a taste of adventure, perhaps see that Gorlim was well, then return to Bree later in the day. It had never crossed her mind that she would be unwelcome.

"Intended or not, I am," she declared, chin set.

For a moment, the Ranger seemed to hesitate.

"Keep close," was all he said as he mounted his horse. As the animal began to move, he called back over his shoulder, "And if I have reason to believe you are are a threat, I will kill you."

Tess tried not to let him see how his words had rattled her. She followed him quickly, not speaking. This Ranger seemed more serious than Gorlim had, less inclined to trust her. It made her wonder if perhaps adventures were not best left to the storybooks.

After a few minutes the Ranger veered off the road and into the Chetwood. Tess followed, struggling to keep her seat on Pansy. The old mare was not a sure-footed creature at the best of times, and the darkness only made matters worse.

* * *

Hours passed; Tess fell off her horse once, and had several scratches on her face from low-lying branches. The Ranger did not seem fazed in the least, riding along as if on a large road on a clear day. The sun had been up for nearly an hour when they came to the camp.

"Halbarad!" another Ranger called out as he approached them, but Tess was too absorbed in taking in her surroundings to notice.

She was not sure what she had expected, but it was not this. Three fires in a clearing, around which sat Rangers. Many seemed to be wounded; a few were lying on the ground, and Tess assumed those were the worst injuries. Several seemed to be unconscious. To one side were laid the corpses of those who had fallen in battle- Tess felt the bile rise in her throat as she took in the number. The scent of their blood hung in the air, mingling with the smoke from the campfire. It smelt almost of a butcher's shop. The corpses of the orcs were in a heap at the opposite edge of the clearing. She tried not to examine it too closely; her first glance had been enough.

Two dark-haired men stood on the far side of the camp. Not men. They drew the eye too much to be men; they were too tall, too old-but-young, too beautiful. Tess realised they must be elves. But the merry creatures she had heard of were not present; these men were great and terrible, not cheerful. Their faces were grim as they surveyed the woods surrounding the encampment. They frightened her, if she was honest.

"Young love?" the approaching Ranger asked, nodding towards Tess.

"I hear young men are particularly prone to it," Halbarad replied, smiling. "Loneliness makes a kind word seem like a declaration of adoration, a pretty smile the reason for being. Most of them grow out of it soon enough."

Tess blushed furiously at The Grey Ghost's flippant declaration, and wished she could think of a stinging reply. But her irritation was soon forgotten when she spotted Gorlim near a fire. He was lying down.

A step closer showed a heavily bloodied bandage across his torso.

* * *

…


End file.
